


People Will Talk

by MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Rumbelle - Fandom
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comedy, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Romance, Rumors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-16 02:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/pseuds/MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: Atticus Gold and Storybrooke newcomer Belle French have a relationship no one in town approves of, and people make their opinions known in small-minded, small-town fashion: he’s too old for her, and the pretty young librarian needs to find friends her own age. When Gold ends the relationship to protect Belle’s reputation, the tongue-wagging gets worse. Can Belle and Gold admit their feelings and find happiness in spite of the rumors?aka the Rumor/Assumed Fake Dating AU no one asked for but I wrote anyway.





	1. Rumors

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is the fic I've been working on all month and teasing on Tumblr. This May is my three-year-anniversary writing fic for the Rumbelle fandom, and this story is my thank you gift to my readers! Over the past three years, you guys have encouraged me with so many kudos and wonderful comments that made me laugh and cry, and this is my way of giving back to you. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, but I want you all to know how much your support means to me. Also, this story is just about done. I wanted to finish it before posting, so you can expect a fairly regular posting schedule. I KNOW! SHOCKING!
> 
> There are pockets of angst here, but I can assure you a happy ending is on its way!
> 
> Thanks to maplesyrupao3 for your help on this story. Couldn't have done it without you.

“Is that  _ egg _ ?”

“Miss French!” Gold jumped, dropping the sponge he was using to scrub his front door. Soapy, slimy water dribbled down the front of his charcoal pinstripe suit.  

Belle bit her lip and frowned. She’d been  _ Belle _ just last night when they were cuddling on the sofa in his den. She had even kissed him before she went home, a brief brush of his deliciously rough cheek with her lips, hovering as close to his mouth as she dared to come. 

“I’m sorry!” She touched his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“No matter.” He shrugged and dabbed at the wet spots on his chest with his pocket square, as though having his house egged and washing the door in his finest apparel was an everyday occurrence.

Belle recognized the cut and sheen of his three-piece ensemble. Brioni, and tailored to fit him like a glove. When he’d been alive, her father had an entire walk-in closet filled with dozens like it and Italian hand-stitched shoes so shiny she could see her reflection in the gleaming leather. 

“Here, let me.” She plucked the pocket square from Gold’s fingers and began patting it down the front of his suit, frowning at the orange-yellow streaks of egg yolk, half-cooked in the sizzling 90-degree heat. It was on the tip of her tongue to offer to buy him a new one, but a proud, self-made man like Gold would never accept or understand the gesture.

She drifted closer, swallowing a noise of delight as she ran the silk over the lean muscles of his chest. In the stifling summer heat, his alluring scent of tobacco, vanilla, and warm male skin wafted toward her. He stiffened when she reached his ribs, his posture rigid, his eyes looking straight ahead. When she snaked a trail downward toward his stomach, he closed his fingers around her wrist, stopping her from continuing. Sweat beaded on the stubble above his lips, and she had the crazy urge to rise on her tiptoes to lick it away. His thumb pressed into her wrist, and she wondered if he could feel the hammering of her pulse. 

Breathless, Belle lifted her chin to meet his gaze; his honey brown irises wide and troubled. Like a spring, he released her and jerked away as though he’d been burned. 

She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest, confused by his sudden withdrawal. “This is crazy,” she said, looking at the stained house. “We’re nowhere near Halloween. It’s not even October.” Outraged at the idea of someone egging Gold’s house, she gestured into the late July sunshine with a frown.

“Pranks know no season in Storybrooke,” he muttered with another shrug.

She sighed. She’d moved halfway across the world from Melbourne to Storybrooke about eight months ago and was still learning all the quirks of life in small-town America. Lord knew her parents tried to shield her from the worst of it, but her family’s high-profile shipping empire had made them the target of ridicule and speculation all her life. When Papa had been alive, the Australian tabloid paparazzi followed him everywhere. With her father’s death came the end of their interest in the life of Belle French. But here in a small town, everyone was famous, and news traveled around faster than lightning bugs in the wood. 

Belle wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt and painted on a brave smile. The least she could do was help Gold clean up the mess. “Do you have another sponge?”

He gave her a passing glance, then went back to scrubbing the door. The sticky viscous substance had dried on the leaded glass pane in the oppressive heat, making the consistency as tacky as dried glue. 

When her stomach rumbled, she pulled out her mobile phone. “If you’re not going to accept my help, I’m calling for takeout. Does Thai sound good, or would you prefer pizza? I wouldn’t say no to a garlic butter crust.”

There was a long moment of silence and he continued to rub at a stubborn spot beside the door knocker. “You needn’t have troubled yourself by stopping by,” he said at last.

Her empty stomach did an uncomfortable flip at his brusqueness. “But it’s Thursday,” she said with a teasing smile, trying to push past his formal tone. “And even if it wasn’t, it would be weird for me not to stop, especially when I see you outside. You’re on my way home. Now come on, I’m hungry.”

Belle owned a rambling Victorian only two blocks away from Gold’s, and the walk between her home and the library meant she passed his house twice a day, five to six days a week. The day they met he was standing on the porch cursing at knotted strands of Christmas lights. The decorations were a surprise for his son Neal. He lived in New York City and had made the last-minute decision to spend his the holidays at home instead of in Boston with friends. She’d stopped and offered to help Gold untangle the strings, and they’d struck up a conversation about Charles Dickens.

_ “You’re better with books than with people, Belle,” _ her father would say, patting her on the head with a laugh. Like the dutiful daughter she was, she took the advice to heart and learned to talk to people about books.

Unfortunately, no matter what she said today, Gold was doing an excellent job of impersonating a mime.

An uncomfortable cord of silence stretched taut between them. Belle’s hands started to tremble and sweat dripped down her back. Disappointed, she eased her phone back into her handbag. They always met up for carryout dinner on Thursday evenings, sometimes at her house, but mostly at his. Once in a while, they ventured out, but the best times were when they curled up on the couch barefoot for food and conversation. It was so simple and normal; a stark contrast to the silent, chef-prepared meals at the long dining room table she’d grown up with where you had to hike a mile down the table to pass the green beans.

The company was the best part. Gold was witty, charming, and handsome and always had a funny anecdote to share about a tenant or a pawnshop customer. Given the choice, she would have spent every evening for the rest of her life talking and laughing with him.

But he hadn’t invited her.

“Gold.” She touched his shoulder again. “Talk to me. Do you have any idea who did this, or why?”

He tossed the sponge onto the porch next to the bucket, his shoulders slumped. “I’ve told you before, Miss French, I’m not well liked.”

Determined to banish the dark clouds gathering over them, she forced a smile. “The name’s Belle, remember? And I like you just fine.”

“All right. I’m not well liked,  _ Belle _ . People don’t want to see us together. It’s a shock to the senses, or so I’ve been told.”

Her mouth opened in surprise. “Atticus, what—”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. If we’re walking down the street side-by-side or having a bite to eat? Nasty stares? Concerned whispers? It’s always the same story: Gold the cradle robber, taking advantage of sweet, innocent Miss French.”

Belle balked. “I’m twenty-eight, not in nappies.”

“You know what I mean.” His small, ironic smile made her heart hurt. 

Belle chewed her lip, thinking back over the past few months of their friendship. The truth was, no, she didn’t. She didn’t have the first clue what he meant. Being with Gold was like reading one of her favorite books: when they were together, she was too captivated by the man at her side to notice anything or anyone else. The way his hair glinted in the sunshine, the way his dimples bracketed his hard-won smiles, and how sweat beaded on his upper lip when he was warm and agitated.

“Jefferson’s aunt came into the shop to compliment me on my beautiful daughter.” He sighed. “Last week when we were at Granny’s and I took the liberty of ordering your cocktail while you were in the restroom, Ashley Boyd asked me if you were old enough for a drink.”

“Who cares what they think?” she retorted, hands on hips.

An ugly laugh spilled from his mouth. “You’ll care a lot when you’re denied library funding by the town council, or people cross the street to walk on the opposite side so they don’t have to walk past you. Maybe they’ll throw eggs at your bedroom window on account of your reckless decision to spend time with the town pariah.”

“Bullshit.”

His jaw dropped in surprise. Good; she'd gotten his attention.

She wanted to boast that she could buy and sell twenty libraries one hundred times over without making a dent in her bank account. But she couldn’t say that, any more than she could admit she wrote anonymous donation checks to the library once a month, or confess she acquired new children’s and art history selections last week because she was bored. People believed she was eeking by on a meager associate librarian’s salary when in reality she accepted the paycheck to keep up appearances and be polite. Her position at the library was about sharing her passion for reading, not making money.

Money she had plenty of, but what of friendship and love? Those came at a premium she couldn’t pay for.

“I mean it. I call bullshit.” Her fingers dug into her hips. “Why are you pushing me away?”

“More like hurrying nature to take its course.” He waved her concerns away with a hand. “Look at me. I’m nineteen years older than you. My hair is graying, my wrinkles are multiplying, and my leg aches worse today than it did yesterday.”

“I am looking at you. And I like both what I see, and the man I know. Very much.”

He shook his head as though he hadn’t heard her. “You don’t have to trouble yourself, sw...Belle.” He gestured at the door. “Over this or me.” 

The compassionate words were at odds with his cold, hard tone, as though he was chipping ice off a block. His face, usually so open to her, had hardened into an impenetrable mask. Many times she’d seen him look at others with the same cool appraisal, but she never figured on being on the receiving end of his bitter stare.

At a loss, she shivered in spite of the sweltering evening heat and wrapped her arms around herself. Gold was her friend, her best friend in town, really. She didn’t want to lose their relationship over the say-so of some silly busybodies.

“What about your other friends?” he asked, still scrubbing away at the stupid door.

Belle chewed her lower lip, considering. There was Ruby, and Mulan, and Ariel. Mary Margaret and David Nolan were kind. She liked them all, but her connection with Gold was special. At least she thought so.

Still, he continued to scrub, all his attention on the now spotless mahogany door. The sponge scraped against the door in a maddening rhythm that matched the sick pound of her heart. She grabbed his wrist, wrestling the sponge away from him. “You’re my best friend.”

* * *

 

“You should stop coming here.” He swallowed. Forcing himself to send Belle away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Even more difficult than facing his ex-wife’s midnight departure from his and their son’s life almost twenty-five years ago. “Before people get any more wrong ideas.”

Belle squeezed the sponge, wringing it out between her small white fingers. “You don’t want to be around me?”

“No! Yes. I mean no!” Frustrated, he ground his back teeth. She wasn’t understanding. The problem was him, not her. It was always him, couldn’t she see? “That’s the furthest thing from the truth. You shouldn’t want this. Not with me.”

Quips from Jefferson’s sweet maiden aunt and snide remarks from the likes of Ashley Boyd weren’t the worst of it. More than one well-meaning town denizen had taken him aside at great risk to their rental agreements to explain how disgusting and improper a relationship between two people so far apart in age was. How it would be better for everyone if he left the young librarian to herself and allowed her to make some real friends. Phrases like “old enough to be her father” and “sugar daddy” peppered the one-sided conversations. In each case, he’d told them to mind their own bloody business, pretending to be unaffected, but the interactions left him feeling shaken and sick.

Yesterday when he came to collect rent, the Widow Lucas had stared him square in the eye and handed him a stack of bills. “You’re closer to my age than you are to hers, Gold. And making a fool of yourself. As long as she’s associated with you, she’ll never have a chance with anyone else.”

_ Never have a chance. _

Gold was furious, but even his legendary temper couldn’t rival the pain of knowing Granny was right. They all were. They were playing upon his trust issues, exploiting his greatest fear: Belle was humoring him until someone younger and more attractive captured her time and attention. And he was falling for it. 

“Surely you’re tired of playing games with an old man,” he said, bitterness leaking into the words.

He watched the blood drain from her face, nausea rolling through his gut. He grappled for the cane he’d leaned against the porch railing to steady himself. 

“People talk.” She jerked her chin, whispering the words through barely parted lips. “Let them say what they want. I don’t care.”

“I see. You think this is only about you.” Ruthlessly, he hammered another nail in the coffin of their relationship. Dizzy, he looked down at the porch, watching an army of ants carry a crumb towards a crack. Anything was preferable to acknowledging the tremble of her jaw, those striking blue eyes brimming with tears and wreathed with dark circles of pain.

“Why...” she seemed to curl up on herself as she spoke, her voice becoming small as well as her body, and his heart shriveled even further. “What about...what about what we want? You can’t help who you like spending time with, can you?”

God above, he was a bastard. A sick, sadistic part of him was actually enjoying her reaction. She really did care about him, and he didn’t deserve to spend another moment in her company. Not as her friend or as anything else he might desire. 

“I’m too old for you, Belle.” He winced the moment the trite excuse left his lips. He thought of their trip to the beach last week, and how she’d coaxed him to take his shirt off for the first time in ten years. How he hadn't even minded the way her warm gaze roamed over his skinny white chest. “The last several months have been...pleasant...but it’s time to move on.”

“I thought we were friends.” Her voice was raw, and she twisted the sponge.

He shook his head, aghast that she still believed the problem to be on her end. “No, sweetheart. It’s me, not you. I’m sure there are some younger people who would be better suited...” he made a helpless gesture. 

“I can’t believe this.” She was pulverizing the sponge now, choking it, probably imagining it was his neck.

He pushed on, driving her further away. “Talking about me is one thing; I’m used to it. Talking about you because of me...well, that’s another matter entirely. It’s no longer only one person’s reputation at stake. I can’t bear it, Belle.  Us not seeing each other anymore...it’s the only way I can protect your reputation.”

He turned around and faced the door again. There was a long, tense silence, and he could feel the sad weight of her stare.

“Protect yourself, you mean, don’t you?” she retorted, her voice choked with tears. 

He heard the splash of the sponge in the bucket and he hung his head in shame. He’d gotten what he wanted, though. She was leaving.   


The only sound he could remember for the rest of the evening was the clatter of her heels down the steps and out of his life.

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little angst to start. What do you think so far, guys? Are we going to have fun?


	2. Pretending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold hasn't seen Belle in two weeks and Alice is not happy with him. Belle gets an unpleasant surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to take out the sting of Monday with an update. Hope you enjoy!

_Two Weeks Later_ _  
_

“Alice, _why_ are you looking at me like that?”

Gold held his breath and waited, cursing himself for asking. He was guaranteed not to like the answer, but anything was better than the silent treatment.

Alice stopped dusting the cabinet of china dolls to fix him with another poisonous glare. “Because you’re a horse’s ass who has more money than brains.”

“Noted. Can you at least keep up with your duties while you insult me? Time is still money, dearie, even here in the barnyard.” Squabbling, at least, was familiar territory.

Gold waved a hand around the tidy pawnshop, wondering who worked for whom. He owned the store, but Alice called the shots. Sometimes it seemed like his only job was bankrolling Alice’s Amazon Prime spending sprees while she worked her way through Storybrooke College.

The only person he knew who shopped more than Alice was...no, he wasn’t going there.

Still glowering at him like he was something she scraped from the bottom of her shoe, Alice worked her way around the perimeter of the shop with her feather duster. He had to admit she did keep the cobwebs at bay and his stockroom organized, even if she annoyed the hell out of him in the process.

He glanced at the restored cuckoo clock on the wall. It was almost lunchtime, and Alice had been scowling at him since she’d shown up for work this morning. Trying to ignore her, he eased behind the counter and opened the books.

She fell silent for a short, precious moment, then slapped her hands on the countertop.“Ha! I know what your problem is. You’re in a foul temper because you haven’t seen your sweetheart. Belle hasn’t popped in for two weeks. What’s wrong? Lovers’ quarrel?”

“Beg pardon?” he asked, pretending to study his ledgers.

Feigning ignorance never worked on Alice. So like a Jones. Stubborn and mouthy, just like her father. She continued to bore holes into the top of his head, muttering to herself about how he was apologizing to the wrong person until he looked up with a long-suffering sigh.

Talking, talking. Why was the girl always talking? An ocular migraine threatened to form, sharp and urgent above his nose. Tiny sparks exploded in his peripheral vision, and he pressed his fingers against his forehead.

He supposed he could send his little conscience home from work to get her out of his way, but she was more than an employee—she was his goddaughter—and he’d promised Hook he would keep tabs on Alice while he was at sea. Killian “Hook” Jones’ career as a Naval officer meant lengthy tours of duty up to six months, and he knew Alice and her papa missed each other dreadfully while he was away. Guilt poked his conscience; he hadn’t emailed Hook with an update in at least two weeks. But he knew his oldest (and only) friend would question him about Belle, and he was neither willing to lie nor ready to confide. Besides, he reasoned, Alice could text her papa anytime she wanted with her smartphone thingy.

“If you’re not going to work, why don’t you study?” he murmured, trying to concentrate on his July sales numbers. “Isn’t there a women’s lit paper due tomorrow or something?”

“Books!” she shouted, making him jump. “That’s it! Why don’t you take these books back to the library for me?”

Alice plopped a pile of novels on top of the financials, jarring him from his thoughts. He pinched the bridge of his nose hard. Now he would have to rework the column of numbers all over again.

“I was hoping to get advice from Belle on a dress for my date with Robin on Friday, but this’ll give you an excuse to see her instead.” Alice grinned, delighted with her solution.

He shoved the books aside with a huff. “I’m not looking for an excuse.”

“Why the hell not?” Abandoning the pretense of working entirely, she dropped the feather duster on the floor and hoisted herself up on top of the counter.

He set his teeth on edge. “Belle and I aren’t friends anymore.”

“Friends?” She smirked. “If you’re friends, then I’m straight. Hate to break it to you, Uncle Atty, but you two have _never_ been friends. She’s in love with you! And you love her, too.”

“What makes you say so?” he asked carefully, looking at his nails.

“Oh, I don’t know. The dark circles under your eyes. The constipated look on your face. You look like a saggy, twitchy, miserable old man.” She held up a brown paper bag. “Want a sandwich?”

He turned around, assessing his appearance in the antique mirror that hung on the wall behind the cash register. “I _am_ a saggy, twitchy, miserable old man,” he snapped. “And no, I’m not hungry.”

“When Belle’s around, you look all soft and floppy and happy, like Rabbit does whenever I come home.” Alice smiled another cheeky grin.

He smiled back at her in spite of himself. “Well, I’ve been called worse, dearie, but If you’re expecting to bring me to heel like that stupid old dog of yours, it’ll be a cold day in hell.” He slammed the ledger closed and headed for the workroom. The girl trailed after him, still clutching her paper sack.

“I have egg salad,” she teased, shaking the bag. “Your favorite.”

 _It used to be._ He shuddered, his stomach lurching. Eggs were a definite no. Now whenever he saw any sort of egg concoction, he thought of Belle’s pinched, white face on that hot July afternoon thirteen days ago when he ended their friendship. Not that he was counting the days since they’d been apart.

“I don’t eat eggs anymore,” he said. “Too much cholesterol.” No one knew his house had been egged besides Belle, and he wasn’t going to whine about it to Alice. He still had some pride.  
  
“You don’t like eggs, you don’t like Belle.” Alice spread her hands wide and twirled in a circle. “What do you like, Sam-I-Am?”

He pulled a face. “Peace and quiet. Both seem to be in short supply.”

Laughing at his sour expression, she plopped down on one of the stools at the work table and dangled her sandwich in front of his nose. “How about marmalade? I’ll trade ya.”

Alice was volunteering to eat the egg salad and offering her favorite lunch. Things really were as bad as they seemed, then. “Fine.”

Resigned, he sat down beside her, accepting half of the sandwich. He took a small bite to stop her prattling, but he had no appetite. Food had no flavor, the whole world drained of color and light without Belle. He missed her; her laughter, her touches, her insatiable appetite for stuffed crust pizza.

“Eat,” Alice insisted, clucking over him like a little mama.

He swallowed the bite of sandwich and forced himself to take another. “So, did you choose a dress for your date?” he asked, attempting both to change the subject and rejoin the land of the living. “Where are you and Robin going?”

“It’s just Tony’s.” Alice shrugged like the occasion was no big deal, and took a massive bite of her sandwich.

A six month anniversary is an important milestone.” He took out his pocket square and folded it into a perfect crown, trying not to be hurt that she hadn’t asked his advice. “Your father wouldn’t know style if it bit him on the arse, but I know my way around a clothing boutique.”

“I know,” she said around a mouthful of egg salad. “But I was kinda wanting the opinion of another woman. No offense.”

‘Another woman’ meant Belle. He cleared his throat. “None taken.” Not for the first time he was reminded that walking away from Belle didn’t only affect him. Alice looked up to Belle like an older sister, and he hoped his relationship failings weren’t driving a wedge between Alice and Belle, too.

Poking at the crust on his sandwich, he wondered what Belle was doing right now. She was probably balancing a book on her lap while she ate, dropping sandwich crumbs between the pages and... _no._ Gold mentally slapped himself. Cutting a person out of your life meant giving up the right to wonder.

Alice polished off the first half of her sandwich and started on the second. “Belle was at Granny’s the other night,” she offered slyly, employing her uncanny knack for reading his mind.

He choked on the sticky bit of bread in his mouth. “Oh? With anyone?” _Ugh_. When it came to the people he cared about, he was terrible at nonchalance.

“Yeah. Tall bloke with sparkling blue eyes and a strong, lean jaw.” She batted her eyelashes. “Didn’t recognize him, but it looked like a date.”

 _Date?_ _Belle had gone on a date?_ He would find out who the bastard was and he would crush his windpipe with his cane. Gold looked down at his hands. They were coated in marmalade, the mangled sandwich crushed between his palms.

“Way to play it cool, Uncle Atty.” Alice smirked and he rose to wash his sticky hands. “I’m kidding. But I wouldn’t have made a joke if I knew you were _this_ upset. Belle was at a booth with some other people. Ruby, Mulan, and Mary Margaret. Waved at me once, but she was picking at her food and staring at the wall whenever I tried to catch her eye. It’s obvious she’s missing you. Can’t you fix this?”

“I couldn’t possibly be intelligent enough to do that,” he said, grateful sarcasm was there to cover his relief at Belle not being on a date after all.

“Mmm, I see.” Alice rolled her eyes. “She’s the first woman who saw through your little act, isn’t she? Now you’re grouchy because you’ve gone and screwed up the best thing in your life because some Granny, Marco, and some other ignorant busybodies have their noses out of joint. Since when are you afraid of them, anyway?”

“Afraid? Ha!” He flashed his gold tooth in a warning snarl. This conversation was ridiculous.

“Cripes, this place can be so backward. Even the clock doesn’t move here.” Alice gestured down the street toward the clock tower, which had been stuck at 8:15 for twenty years. “I’d say we’re living in a land time forgot, but it’s been a common practice in most societies for younger women and older men to marry for generations.”

“Marry?” He sputtered. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Obviously not you!”

He crossed his arms and grunted. “Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me, child. I used to change your nappies.”

“That’s right, you did. So why are you pretending I don’t know you?” She swallowed the rest of her sandwich in a gulp and chased it with half a can of Dr. Pepper soda. “People whisper all sorts of wicked things about me. Some of them are true and some of them are outright lies. We’re alike in that way, you and I. So what? If I paid attention to what everyone said, I’d never leave the house.”

“I know, honey.” He smoothed his hands over the smooth grain of the worktable, ashamed of himself. Alice had more than her share of bad days, days when she couldn’t come into work. Times when she came to the shop and wandered around as though in a dream, trailing her fingers through cabinets coated in dust, a faraway look in her eyes. What he suffered was nothing in comparison, and yet he couldn’t seem to ignore the thick fog of prejudice and judgment that suffocated him whenever he was with Belle.

“People talk no matter what we do; doesn’t mean we have to listen.” She patted his shoulder. “You sure as hell don’t listen to me, and I talk your head off every damn day.”

He gave her a fond smile and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t remind me.”

* * *

Day after day of pretending she was fine was exhausting, but Belle had been doing a fair job of holding herself together since Gold had unceremoniously dumped her on his front porch. She wasn’t sure it counted as a dump if you only fantasized you were a couple, but according to the ache in her chest, it was real.

The busier the day, the better. If she kept moving from task to task, she could ignore her shattered heart. She showed up for her library shifts without fail, she checked books in and out, and chattered with people about their lives. Today she had even helped several eleventh graders with their Marie Antoinette biographies. Staying busy was working until the last hour of the day when the flow of patrons slowed to a trickle and she sat down at her desk to open the mail.

She quickly sorted through the typical bills, catalogs, and overdue fine payments, arranging them into piles. A plain, clean white envelope addressed directly to her stood out from the rest of the mail, and she saved it for last. There was no return address, but the faint scent of antiseptic clung to the crisp envelope.

Belle ripped the envelope open and a drawing sketched on a piece of ruled notebook paper floated to the floor. What she saw made her bite down on her lip hard, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth. It was a crude illustration, but she could make out the Beast from the movie _Beauty and the Beast_ , drawn wrinkled and old, wearing a suit and tie and clenching a cane in his gnarled claw. He was ogling a young woman who was reading a book. The woman wore a version of movie Belle’s famous golden dress, but the skirt barely grazed her thigh and the bodice dipped all the way to her navel. Clearly, the image was meant to be of her and Gold.

She stared down at the crude representation, then crumpled it in her fist. It was a cheap attempt at an insult, drawing her to look like some sort of slutty temptress and Gold as a dirty old man. Rage ripped through her in a white-hot streak, and her mind narrowed to a singular purpose: finding out who had done this. Tonight.

Belle shot to her feet, knocking over her chair.

Granny’s Diner was the social hub of Storybrooke, and the best place to get to the bottom of nonsense, but she was far too impatient to wait until the library closed. She chased the last few stragglers out of the library and slammed the door behind her, jamming the key in the lock with shaking hands until it clicked. With frayed nerves, she stomped all the way to Granny’s, the drawing clutched in her closed fist. The early August evening air was warm and humid, and sweat trickled down her back as she marched down Main Street. While she hurried down the sidewalk, she tried to puzzle out who had drawn and sent the picture and why. Rumors and innuendo aside, there was something perplexing about caring so much for Gold and yet holding physical evidence that other people couldn’t see the tender, handsome man she knew.

Small towns produced small minds.

The tables at Granny’s were packed. It was Thursday during dinner rush—the most popular night—and people clustered inside the front door and on the patio outside, waiting for the chance to sit down. All the barstools were occupied, platters and baskets of food sitting in front of every person. Good. Belle wanted a large audience for what she was about to do.

She toed off her heels and climbed up on the counter.  
  
Mr. Clark from the pharmacy stared at her in horror, then sneezed and wrapped an arm around an enormous, sauce-covered square of lasagna, drawing it closer for protection. Ruby stood frozen at the cash register, and Ashley Boyd narrowly missed dropping the tray of dirty dishes she was carrying, almost colliding with town psychiatrist Archie Hopper as she narrowly saved the plates from slipping to the floor.

Behind the counter, Granny made an outraged, sputtering noise, the heat of her glare rivaling the sizzling grill. At the moment, it didn’t matter if Granny never sold her another hamburger or slice of chocolate cake for the rest of her life, Belle was getting some answers _tonight_. She turned around and faced the crowd.

“Who did this?” Belle called out, looking down over the sea of faces. She held up the drawing, still clenched in her shaking fist. The noise continued to drone on around her, the clatter of forks against plates, the townspeople oblivious to anything but their meals and their conversations. “I _said_ who did this?”

“Look, Mommy!” yelled a blonde girl with curly pigtails. “That lady is fifty feet tall!” A hush came over the diner in a languid wave and all eyes turned to stare at Belle standing on the counter. Forks were laid down on plates with a quiet clatter. Time seemed to stand still and no one appeared to so much as breathe.  

“Does anyone want to confess?” she asked, shaking the drawing in her fist and glaring around the restaurant with narrowed eyes.

When no one stepped forward or admitted guilt, she dropped the drawing on the counter and ground it into the tile with her bare heel. “You’re all a bunch of cowards, you know that? Mr. Gold and I are friends, and it’s no one’s business but ours what we do. Your problem isn’t that he’s befriended a woman a few years younger than he is. Your problem is you’re a classless bunch of small-minded prigs.”

Jaws dropped and they gaped at her like fish in an aquarium, then fell back to their eating and chattering as though people stood on top of Granny’s counter raving like lunatics every day of the week.

Her limbs shook with anger, and she caught the sympathetic eyes of Mary Margaret and David Nolan. One minute they were sitting at the counter holding hands and sharing a basket of chicken fingers and the next thing she knew, they were flanking her, standing one on each side, like a pair of orderlies preparing to strap her into a straight jacket and wheel her away.

“Okay, Belle, that’s enough now, honey.” Mary Margaret’s voice was quiet and soothing, and Belle felt her knees begin to give out.

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Alice and Gold's relationship in this story. Hope you guys do, too. Drop me a comment and let me know what you think!


	3. Tea and Sympathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Belle's outburst at Granny's, it's David and Mary Margaret Nolan to the rescue. Later, Belle and Gold collide at a town meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When we last saw Belle, she was standing on top of the counter at Granny's.
> 
> Posting this chapter much later in the day than I would like, but I just moved across four states and things are hectic so please forgive me.

Murmurs and whispers swirled around Belle, sucking the oxygen out of the diner. Her legs wobbled and she felt like she was floating in a sea of judgmental stares. David Nolan swam into focus, his face etched in kindness, hand outstretched to help her down off the countertop. Relieved, she grasped his fingers and hooked her feet on the rungs of a stool to slide to the floor.

“Let’s all, uh, go somewhere to talk?” David inclined his head toward the front of the diner, only letting go of Belle’s clammy hand when she was back on solid ground.

“How about across the way to the new tea shop?” Mary Margaret suggested, slipping a comforting arm around Belle’s shoulders and propelling her out the door and onto the sidewalk. “Belle likes tea,” she told David, as though Belle were still five-years-old.

Belle eased out of Mary Margaret’s gentle grasp and started to back away, moving in the direction of her house. “Look, I don’t need an intervention, okay?”

Mary Margaret harrumphed and offered a winning smile. “Don’t be silly. This is an in’tea’vention. Hardly the same thing.”

Although she wanted to melt into a crack in the sidewalk and slink away, Belle couldn’t help but giggle. And Mary Margaret looked so earnest that she couldn’t bear to turn her back. With a weary sigh, she allowed the two of them to lead her across the road to the Little Curiosities Tea & Book Shoppe. They guided her to a little table with wobbly legs set against the back wall lined with books—far from a view of the street.

“Table in the back, hmmm?” She gave the couple a knowing look but dropped into the chair David held out for her. Glum, she propped her chin on her elbows. “Not wanting to be seen in my company is becoming an epidemic.”

“It’s not that at all, Belle,” David said.

“We thought you could use some privacy,” Mary Margaret added. “A break from the gossip and a cup of tea.”

“I guess.” Belle crossed her arms over her chest. At least they didn’t point out that she had heaped on reasons for more conjecture with the stunt she’d just pulled. No matter how hard she tried to conceal her emotions, she always seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve. After opening the loathsome caricature of herself and Gold at the library, she had no appetite for dinner. Her empty stomach objected, however, grumbling in spite of her distress.

“Let’s get some scones, too,” Mary Margaret chirped. “Does chocolate chip sound good?”

Belle nodded, brightening a bit. Chocolate chip scones were her favorite. Gold favored blueberry scones, a close second in her opinion.  
  
While David and Mary Margaret went to the counter to order refreshments, Belle stared out the window. A double-sided flyer announcing a gala to benefit the town clock tower was plastered against the glass, and an idea began to form. Perhaps she could be of some use. Mayor Mills had talked more than once about Storybrooke’s need for a historical preservation effort.

Several doors down, the pawn shop sign lit up Main Street with a cheery glow, a contrast to her bleak mood. Belle’s thoughts drifted in an inevitable direction. What was Gold doing this evening? Was he working late or home puttering around his house? Already she missed not being able to call or knock on his door with a selection of takeout menus, and she wondered how long he planned to avoid her under the guise of defending her reputation.

Soon, the Nolans returned to the table with a tray bearing several scones still warm from the oven and a selection of teas. The smell of slightly charred chocolate made her mouth water and her stomach growled again when the plate was set down in front of her. Famished, Belle gobbled her scone and downed half a cup of tea. Mary Margaret played hostess, quickly topping off Belle’s mug with more hot water from the silver pot in the center of the table.

Strength returned when the food hit her stomach, and so did her resolve. “I will find out who drew that ridiculous picture.” Belle shoved her plate away. If Mary Margaret and David thought feeding her comfort food was going to make her drop the matter, they were mistaken.

“Just no more climbing up on countertops,” Mary Margaret admonished with a shake of her head. “We wouldn’t want you to break your neck in the pawnshop.”

“Mary Margaret’s right.” David nodded, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “Thanks to Alice, Gold keeps those suckers polished to a high shine. My hands slide off the glass all the time. You could fall.”

Thanks to their imagery, Belle saw herself standing on Gold’s display cases in her shortest leather skirt, thigh-high stockings, and no panties. He would smile at her, his teeth flashing in the low light, and begin to kiss behind her knees, working his way up her thighs…

“Belle? Belle?”

She blinked. Mary Margaret was waving a hand in front of her face. “Sorry.” Belle pressed her hands against her flushed cheeks. They’d caught her daydreaming. David’s eyes were still twinkling and she prayed he couldn’t guess the risque direction of her thoughts.

“What happened with Gold?” he asked.

The gentleness in his tone made Belle’s eyes fill with tears. She shivered and leaned forward again, wrapping her hands around her hot mug for comfort. “He said...we can’t be friends anymore. That I’d be better off spending time with people closer to my own age.” The excuse sounded so rote and tired that she snorted a humorless laugh.

Mary Margaret blinked. “Oh. I thought you were doing him a favor.”

“Favor?” Belle asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You know, being kind to him.” Mary Margaret pressed her lips together.

“No.” Belle bit back an exasperated sigh. This was exactly why she hadn’t let on about her money. People in town already thought she pitied Atticus, and she didn’t want him joining the long list of people who believed such a ridiculous lie. “Sorry for him is the last thing I feel. When I’m with him...” she trailed off, thoughts of Gold stretching her lips into a smile in spite of the strain between them.

“You’re all lit up inside.” David nodded, then cast a loving gaze toward Mary Margaret. “I know the feeling.”

Belle smiled; David had such a romantic heart. Here was someone who understood her feelings without needing an explanation.

Mary Margaret lifted her cup and blew on the surface of the tea. “Mr. Gold has been alone a long time.”

“Yes.” Belle knew a bit about Gold’s ex-wife, Milah. Their marriage had ended for many of the same reasons she’d broken up with her ex-fiance, Will. Compatibility, trust, different feelings about children. But those were Gold’s secrets to divulge and she wouldn’t betray his confidence.

“Maybe Mr. Gold is more sensitive to censure than you realize,” Mary Margaret continued. “His marriage didn’t end well. Besides, he’s kind of right, isn’t he? He is quite a bit older than you.”

Belle’s head snapped up. “Discrimination is _never_ right. Age is just a number. There’s not even that many years between us—eighteen, twenty tops. Unless…unless the truth is he doesn’t care for me and he was looking for an excuse to get rid of me.” Tears welled in her eyes at the thought and spilled down her cheeks. She sniffled, trying to wipe them away before they dripped into her teacup.

“I don’t think he wanted to be rid of you at all,” Mary Margaret took a thoughtful sip of tea. “Mr. Gold  _looks_ at you. A lot.”  
  
Belle rolled her tear-filled eyes and dabbed at them with a paper napkin. “What is he supposed to do, clap his hand over his eyes when we’re in the same room together?”

Mary Margaret gave her a sympathetic frown. “Belle, come on. What I meant was he looks at you like you’re something to eat.” Mary Margaret held up a piece of scone for effect, the warm pastry oozing with melted chocolate chips. Her cheeks were tinged pink in discomfort but the shiver that coursed through Belle was the exact opposite of unpleasant.

“Really?” she exclaimed, her heart filling with hope.

“You think that’s a _good_ thing?” Mary Margaret squeaked, her mouth gaping open like a fish. Belle stared at her and she snapped her mouth shut. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Belle. I’m sorry. The rest of us are just having some trouble getting used to the idea of you and Gold being friends. Well, of Gold being friends with  _anyone,_ let alone someone young and pretty and female. What could you possibly have in common?”

“What about Killian and Alice Jones?” Belle pointed out, bristling. “They’re his friends.”

“That’s different,” Mary Margaret insisted. “They’ve known each other for years and—”

“As Belle said, dealing with appearances is _our_ problem, honey,” David said, cutting his wife off with a loving smile.

“Is it money?” Mary Margaret seemed not to hear David and was searching Belle’s face for answers. “I know a small town library probably pays about as well as a small town school and an animal shelter, but we have a little put aside if you need a loan.”

Belle forced a tight smile. Like the rest of the town, the Nolans had no idea about her fortune. About a year ago, her parents had died in a helicopter crash off the coast of New Zealand. As the sole heir, she inherited their entire fortune. Besides the shock and pain of losing her only family, the windfall she received from their untimely death embarrassed her. It wasn’t as though she’d earned the money, not the way Gold had. From zero means, he had built a successful business and acquired property, as well as raised a son single-handedly, with only the support of a fellow single father. Storybrooke certainly hadn’t rallied around Gold with offers of help and sympathy in his time of need, and she didn’t expect any sort of poor little rich girl commiseration, either.

People here didn’t like what they didn’t understand.

“You’re sweet,” Belle said. “Thank you for offering, but let me assure you the time I’ve spent with Att-er, Mr. Gold has nothing to do with money. I don’t want or need security or status. I don’t need anything from him. I _like_ him. He’s handsome and smart and charming.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret sputtered, at a loss for words. “I see.”

From the way she was pursing her lips, it was obvious Mary Margaret didn’t see. At all. David shrugged and shot Belle a helpless look.

“This is still Mr. Gold we’re talking about, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” Belle patted Mary Margaret’s hand. She meant well. “He’s wonderful when you get to know him.”

David stroked his face. “It sounds like Mr. Gold is more to you than just a friend, Belle.”

Belle raised her chin. “Yes. I’m in love with him. I love Mr. Gold, and I don’t care who knows.” There. She'd said it. Somehow admitting her feelings out loud made them less painful.

“Oh, honey.” Mary Margaret clucked her tongue. Whether it was in sympathy or disappointment, Belle wasn’t sure. “Does Mr. Gold know how you feel?”

Belle crumbled a scone in her fingers and nodded, despite the doubt creeping along the edges of her assurance. People could be dense when it came to recognizing feelings, and something told her Gold was particularly difficult to get through to. Plus, she’d never come right out and confessed her love, had she? No, she’d just assumed he understood.

“We aren’t trying to spread gossip,” Mary Margaret added. “Merely trying to prepare you for what people might be thinking and saying, especially after what happened tonight at Granny’s.”

“Well, I hope I can count on the two of you to be discrete,” Belle said.

The tightness around Mary Margaret’s eyes relaxed. “Of course. I’m glad we got that settled.”

Belle nodded again, but she knew the inevitable would happen. Someone who saw Mary Margaret and David leaving Granny’s with Belle would start probing in the name of friendly concern, and Mary Margaret would feel compelled to respond. From there, word would spread until the entire town knew Belle French was in unrequited love with Atticus Gold.

Frowning, she brushed her crumb-covered hands onto her skirt. Maybe if she called Gold and explained her feelings and cleared the air about her stupid money, things would go back to the way they used to be.

* * *

Belle ducked out of the rainstorm and slipped into the vestibule of the town hall. She shook out her umbrella and snapped it closed, then peeked through the cloudy glass into the crowded hall. Not expecting a crowd, she swallowed past the lump in her throat. The last time she’d been to a town meeting the library had been on the agenda, and the room had been empty except for the five council members. Considering tonight’s dull slate of discussion topics, there were a surprising number of people in attendance. But it was a rainy summer evening and despite the downpour, humidity hung in the air in a thick, oppressive wall. With picnics and beach trips drowned out by the rain, Storybrooke town meetings were a pleasant diversion and an opportunity to socialize indoors in bad weather.

Ordinarily, Belle would have enjoyed a chance to chat with people, but tonight she was here for a singular purpose. She wanted to see Gold. He was on the town council and had no choice but to be here.

Belle slipped into an aisle seat in the back row and scanned the room. It was about fifteen minutes before the meeting, and Gold wasn’t here yet. Damp strands of hair clung to her neck and shoulders, and the cool, air-conditioned air made her shiver. She plucked an agenda from the basket on the floor at the end of the aisle, the paper limp between her fingers. Belle scanned the sheet: The height of speed bumps on Main Street, grievances about not being able to park on the roads when the street cleaner was running, and gripes about paint colors of private residences topped the list. She shook her head. People loved a reason to complain. For her, everything on the agenda was in the zero interest zone, but she needed to talk to Gold and she was desperate enough to corner him. She felt a little guilty, trapping him this way, but he’d left her with no choice.

Belle thought for sure after her outburst at Granny's, everything would go back to the way it was before. Word would travel back to him the way it always seemed to in a small town, and together they’d laugh over the _Beauty and the Beast_ drawing and people’s stupidity. She could tell him about the money, how there was no need for him to worry about whether she would get fired. Secrets behind them, they would fall back into their easy friendship and build on from there.

She had never been so wrong.

A week had passed since her conversation with Mary Margaret and David, and every attempt she’d made to contact Gold had gone unanswered. When she called, he didn’t pick up the phone; when she went to the shop, Alice manned the front while Gold stayed squirreled away in his workroom. When she stopped at his house on her way home, he didn’t answer the door. She even walked around the perimeter of his house and peeked in the windows like the pathetic stalker she was apparently becoming.

Yesterday, she’d tried the shop one last time. When Alice stammered that Gold was “not to be disturbed,” it took all of Belle’s self-control not to burst through the curtain and demand to know what the hell his problem was. But Alice’s face was wreathed with concern, and Belle hated putting her in the middle.

“Okay,” she’d said, deflated. “I’ll just go.”

“Wait!” Alice called out when Belle was halfway to the door. “Maybe we could have lunch this week and stop at Ariel’s shop? She’s having a summer sale.”

“Sure.” Belle tossed the word over her shoulder. “Call me.” She was always happy to spend time with Alice, but she wasn’t going to hang around Gold’s shop like a groupie, waiting for him to take pity on her. Shoulders slumped, she had returned to the library.

The warm feelings she’d gained from spending time in Gold’s company were slowly drifting away. In their place were a multitude of misgivings. Perhaps she had only imagined the chemistry between them, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe Gold was blowing her off. Not after everything they’d shared. It didn’t seem possible to be this bad at reading signals, but maybe her feelings really were one-sided. Could she truly be as naive as her father always claimed?   

Nervous anticipating filled her as she waited for Gold to arrive at the meeting. She twisted her hands together in her lap to keep from biting her nails. This was a bad idea. There were still five minutes before the meeting started, and she could slip out of the room undetected. Head down, she sprang out of her chair and made a beeline for the door, then crashed into something warm and solid.

* * *

“Omph!” Gold dropped his cane, his arms coming out to stop his fall and catch the person who’d careened into him. The force of the collision had him stumbling backward, and his back hit the wall with a thump. Long seconds passed until he looked down, only to find himself drowning in a gorgeous pair of sapphire eyes. Belle.

“Are you all right?” he murmured. His eyes roved over her face and body, drinking her the sight of her. Damp curls clung to her neck and her cheeks were flushed and dewy. His breathing turned quick and harsh, his heart beating triple time.

Her bright gaze wandered to his lips then their eyes locked once more. “I am now.”

“Good.” They were drawn to each other like two magnets, and before he understood what was happening, he was drifting toward her, leaning down to close the scant distance between their lips.

Their mouths almost brushed, close enough for him to smell the spearmint mints she favored when someone in the crowd gasped and he froze, remembering himself in the nick of time.

 _Belle._ He was holding Belle in his arms in the back of the town hall and for some illogical reason, the room was packed. He dropped his arms from her body and tried to step back, but she was pinning him against the wall with her slight weight. Her hands were still on his shoulders and she stared at him; her lips were parted; her eyes clouded with an emotion he couldn’t define.

“You don’t have an umbrella,” she said.

“What?” he asked, distracted both by the question and the intrusion of voices swelling around them. He felt like every person in the room was eyeing him with judgment and disgust—down to the children playing hopscotch in a corner—as though he’d arranged for Belle to bump into him on purpose.

“It’s been pouring rain all day, and the rest of us are either soaked or sweating, but you’re as impeccable as always.” The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile and she reached out to touch the pleated square of silk tucked into his breast pocket. Her fingers seemed to burn through the layers of material, her touch branding his damp skin.

“Rain stopped,” he replied, willing the room filled with over-interested townspeople to roll back like the storm clouds. He bit back a gasp, then cupped her shoulders to gently push her away.

“Oh.” The light in her eyes died and she took the hint, stepping out of his reach. “Thank you for catching me.”

“No thanks necessary, Miss French.” He made a show of pulling out his pocket watch and snapping it closed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.”

He stomped to the dais without waiting for a reply, telling himself his cold treatment of Belle was for the best. But if that was true, why did his self-loathing grow with every step he took?

“Glad you could join us, Gold.” Mayor Regina Mills, seated in the center of the platform, arched a black, appraising eyebrow. Seated next to her, Midas failed to suppress a smirk.

Gold bared his teeth in a feral smile and nodded a curt greeting to the rest of his fellow council members. With a huff of annoyance, he took his chair. “Why are so many people here?”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Rainstorm? They’re bored.”

“I was just outside and it-” The smash of thunder cut off his next words.

“You were saying?” Regina tapped her Mont Blanc pen on the table in impatience.

“Never mind,” he muttered. Unable to help himself, he sought out Belle in the crowd. She was seated alone in the back row, her head down, looking friendless and lost. The image made his chest constrict but he shook it off, snapping his attention back to the meeting agenda.

He nodded to Alice in the front row, signaling her to start taking minutes. Let the torture commence.

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fine, guys, just make out in the town hall in front of everyone. :)


	4. Interruptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ridiculous town meeting continues. Later, Belle and Gold finally have a chance to clear the air, but interruptions drive them further apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the angst, you guys. But I promise a rewarding happy ending. Stick with me!
> 
> This fic is pretty anti-Zelena, so if you're a fan of hers, I don't recommend reading this.
> 
> Thank you so much to MapleSyrup for all your help and listening to me go on and on about this story!

Belle’s decision to stay at the town meeting wasn’t the wisest course of action for her heart, but her dignity was another matter. 

If she left the hall now, everyone would know running into Gold had upset her, and the rumor mill would start whirring all over again. Plus, the deluge of rain tattooing the blacktop outside made it impossible to leave the building without looking like a complete moron. She was trapped.

People lolled around the room, some sitting and listening to the proceedings and others staring out at the rain, which was creating a minor flood in the parking lot. Kids congregated on the perimeter of the room to play Duck Duck Goose and pattycake, but Belle slumped in her chair and sulked. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, chiding her for poor posture, but she couldn’t bring herself to sit up straight and care.

It was true; Gold wanted nothing to do with her. She glanced at the dais, where his lips were twitching as he listened to the townspeople line up to air their grievances.

Mr. Smee was at the podium, whining about the street cleaners. “I pay my taxes and I’ll park on any damn street I want!” He shook a fist.

“First of all, Smee, the only time you can’t park on Main Street is from 1 a.m. to 4 a.m. on Tuesdays, when all the businesses are closed.” Gold pinched the bridge of his nose. “Second, you don’t own a vehicle.”

“But if I did, you wouldn’t be telling me where to park it!” Smee pulled off his ever-present red woolen cap and tossed it on the floor, stomping his foot. If wearing that thing in this sweltering heat wasn’t proof the guy was off his chain, Belle didn’t know what was, but the council continued to humor his ravings. 

The tick in Gold’s jaw told Belle he was struggling for patience, and she hated herself for caring. Perhaps if she lined up behind Smee, she could actually get him to listen to her.

“Next issue.” Mayor Mills sounded beyond bored. “We have a gala to plan and funding to raise.”

“Your precious clock tower’s not on the agenda,” Albert Spencer said with a sneer. 

“Bite me,” Regina hissed. 

“I hate to be the adult here.” Granny Lucas stood up in the front row, hands on her plump hips. “But I have a business to run and receipts to reconcile. Fifty pounds of lasagna aren’t going to bake themselves, you know!”

Regina pressed her lips together and crossed an elegant, high-heeled leg. Spencer snapped his mouth shut, his face scrunching up like a prune while Midas and Sidney Glass slouched in their chairs. Gold looked on, his face impassive.

“Wait! I’m not done.” Smee was still at the podium. “There’s this house I drive by on my paper route. I think it’s cover for a clown prostitution ring and should be torn down!”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Gold said. “Address?”

“It’s 33 Maple Drive. I bring a newspaper there every morning on my paper route.”

Gold’s lips twisted. “That’s where I live.”

“So? Just because you’re on the town council, that don’t mean you’re above the law!” Smee shouted.   
  
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” yelled Keith Nottingham from the back corner of the room. He cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone, but the paper-bag covered bottle he always carried got in the way, muffling the shouts. He took a swig from the bottle and wiped his lips with the back of a grimy hand. Mothers shepherded their children closer and sent Nottingham disgusted looks.  

Belle rolled her eyes, wishing she had brought a book to pass the time until the rain let up and she could escape the overcrowded hall. Nottingham staggered away, melting through the first set of glass doors into the vestibule where he looked ready to pass out.

Regina cut a sideways glare at Spencer. “Next on the agenda, our annual town gala. It’s in two months, and we’re only halfway to our $500,000 fundraising goal to repair the clock tower. As most of you are aware, the clock has been stuck at 8:15 for twenty years. Mr. Gold has kindly offered to match any and all donations we receive, but we need someone to move things forward and fast.”

Belle’s mind raced with plans and possibilities. If she volunteered to head up the gala, she would have an excuse to talk to Gold; one he couldn’t refuse or ignore. A spark of hope lit in her chest. This could work.

Her smile froze, the uncomfortable sensation of being watched making her skin prickle.

“Hello, bookworm.” Zelena Green and Ursula Fisher slithered into the back row and took the chairs on either side of her. The two of them were inseparable, and it was the oddest friendship she had ever seen. Ursula was tolerable, even kind, on the rare occasions Zelena wasn’t around, but Zelena brought out the worst in her. They were Storybrooke’s version of mean girls and she’d learned to be wary of them at all times. 

“Hi.” Belle managed a tense nod, flexing her fingers against her thighs. 

“So, things are over between you and Gold, hmmm?” Ursula asked without preamble.

“Appears that way,” Belle answered, a dull edge to her voice. She chanced another look at him, trying to catch his eye, but his attention was on Regina, who had assumed full control of the meeting.

“You can drop the act.” Zelena’s eyes gleamed with ugly humor. “We’re here to congratulate you.”

“Congratulate me?” Belle echoed, swallowing a sigh. Encounters with Zelena were never pleasant. Why should today be any different?  

Zelena’s laughter was a low hiss, reminding Belle of a rattlesnake. Quiet yet deadly. “Yes, on your masterful performance. Fake dating Gold! Genius idea. I must say, I didn’t think a dull little bibliophile like you could pull it off, but color me surprised.”    
  
“Color me surprised you can pronounce the word bibliophile,” Belle muttered under her breath.

Ursula nodded. “First Granny's the other night, now a scene at the town hall, Belle? I’ve never seen anyone pull a fake dating attempt off, but everyone really believes you two were an item.”  
  
“If a fake dating venture is successful, that would mean no one ever knew it was fake,” Belle said, trying for a casual, airy tone.

“Whatever.” Zelena’s brow crinkled in confusion, then she tossed her hair back and glanced up at the dais with a wink. “Gold’s reputation as a sour old goat could use some more work, though. Think he’ll hire me next? I’d love to get a piece of him before any other gold-diggers like that bitch Cora Mills get their hooks into him.” She gave Belle a once-over, taking in her St. John sundress and spiky red Jimmy Choos. “Looks like he gives good presents.”

“I bought these myself,” Belle replied through gritted teeth.

“The way you fell into his arms when he walked through the door tonight.” Ursula pretended to swoon. “It was like one of those sappy Hallmark movies.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Belle shook her head. “Running into Gold was an accident. I was leaving and—”

“Then what are you still doing here?” Ursula asked, and she and Zelena exchanged nasty smiles.

“You’ve got the doe-eyed ingenue act down pat, don’t you?” Zelena rolled her eyes. “How much is he paying you?”

“How dare you!” Belle’s voice dropped to a furious whisper.

“Discretion, we get it.” Ursula clucked her tongue. “Damn, it’s always the mousy ones who end up running the secret escort services.”

Nausea roiled through her stomach, and Belle glanced at Gold again, praying they were too far away for him to hear this conversation. If he’d been distressed by what people were saying before, Zelena and Ursula’s insane claims would inspire him to relocate to Alaska. 

“Relax, bookworm. It’s only  _ Gold.”  _ Zelena patted her hand, but her smile was mocking. “A girl’s gotta work, I know, but don’t you think you’ve had your chance with him? Give the rest of us a shot.”

“We’re not  _ fake _ dating,” Belle hissed, snatching her hand away. “There’s nothing fake about us. Where the hell did you get this idea?”

“From the ex-husband himself,” Zelena drawled. “I heard he told Granny who told Ruby who I overheard telling Billy the mechanic that you were a saint to put up with him for so long.”

“We wanted to join you in your charity case,” Ursula said, “but I’m starting to think you’re bitter the charade didn’t last longer, so you could really collect.” She gave Belle another cold once-over. “You know, after he can no longer perform in the bedroom, you’ll still be pureeing his food and bleaching his dentures.”

Had Gold started the fake dating rumor? Belle’s eyes filled with furious tears and she flicked her eyes to the ceiling to stop the flow. If she started crying, they would think they had won. A tear spilled over.

“Oh my God,” Zelena crowed. “This is too much! You actually  _ like _ the old bastard!” 

“You make me sick.” Belle wiped away the wetness on her cheeks and stood up, her hands clenched in fists. She’d never resorted to physical violence before, but if she had to listen to any more of this ugliness, her right uppercut was going to smash into Zelena’s pointed chin. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from me. Both of you.” 

“Careful.” Zelena’s warning was a sing-song tone and she glanced at the front of the room where Mr. Clark from the pharmacy was now sneezing all over the podium. “It’s an open meeting. What’s to stop me from taking the microphone and tell everyone in town how you really feel? They were kind to you when they thought Gold was the problem, but if they find out you  _ want  _ him...let’s just say people are fickle.”

Belle glared at her. “You mean like the exercise clients in Seattle who dumped you on grounds of sexual harassment?”

Zelena paled and Belle felt a flash of triumph. She didn’t consider herself an unkind person, but she wouldn’t be steamrolled by this mean-spirited witch. 

“Yes, I know all about your hands-on personal training sessions and how you only took on male clients,” Belle continued. “Gold mentioned you accosted him at the gym to teach him ‘proper technique’ but I don’t think your groin rubs are  _ rousing _ anyone to better fitness.”

Zelena’s face was turning a peculiar shade of green, and when she opened her mouth, there was nothing but a whimper. Ursula chuckled.

“Go right ahead and make good on your little threat, Zelena.” Belle’s chest was heaving with the force of her anger. “I don’t care who knows how I feel about Gold. But if you say or do anything to hurt him, you’ll regret it.”

“And who’s going to make me regret it?”

Belle stood up straighter, pulling herself up to her full five-foot-two-inch height. “I am.”

“But you’re a do-gooder.” Zelena scoffed. “One of those hero types. You wouldn’t dare come up against me.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’ve never been very good at heroics.” She leaned closer, pitching her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “And for your information, everything they say about an older man’s experience is true. Gold is the best I’ve ever had. After our first time, I could barely walk for a week.”

Ursula gaped at her and Zelena sputtered. Satisfied, Belle turned on her heel and went to sit on the other side of the room.

* * *

A day later, Belle gave into impulse and called Mayor Mills with an offer to head up the gala. Yes, it would give her a much-needed reason to talk to Gold, but Belle also longed to do good for others, to get out of her own confusing headspace and focus on something other than her feelings.   
  
“Excellent. Thank you for helping us out of this predicament, Miss French. Perhaps you and Mr. Gold could work on the fundraiser together?” Belle could feel Regina’s smirk oozing through the telephone. “And since communication seems to be an issue, I’ll come along too. Tomorrow at Granny’s, eight o’clock sharp, dear.”

Belle wanted to suggest a less public meeting place—one where she wouldn’t have to listen to any more ridiculous fake dating rumors—but Regina hung up the phone before she could say so.

At 8:15 the following morning, Belle sat at a table in the sun-drenched front window at Granny’s, watching the sidewalk and picking at a short stack of banana nut pancakes while she waited for Regina and Gold. She could see the reflection of a dozen pairs of eyes in the glass behind her and at the moment she wasn’t sure which was worse: being heralded as some kind of hero who had fake dated Gold to bolster his reputation, or suffering through unrequited love.

Belle glanced at the clock above the counter with a frown; Gold was always punctual. Throughout the course of their friendship, she was the one who always ran late, and he’d taken to telling her to meet him thirty minutes earlier than she was expected so she might have a chance of being on time. It was how he was when others weren’t looking: kind, considerate, and sweet. She hoped he wasn’t sitting at home or in the shop trying to decide whether to come.  
  
“Belle. Good morning.”    


“Oh!” She jumped, her heart thumping wildly. “Atticus. Hi. I was waiting by the window so I would see you and then I didn’t see you.” She pressed her lips together, her tongue feeling twisted in her mouth.

Yeah, this wasn’t awkward.

“You’re, um, looking well,” Gold said after a long, stilted moment of silence. He leaned on his cane, still standing next to the table. His gaze didn’t quite meet her eyes but seemed to rove between her forehead and her ear. Tension and maple syrup hung heavy in the warm air of the diner.

“Thanks,” she said, smoothing her hands down the skirt of her indigo sundress with flirty, ruffled sleeves. Looking well was an understatement to describe him. He wore a navy suit paired with a light blue tie and when he swayed closer, she caught the spicy hint of his aftershave. He looked and smelled more delicious than the pile of pancakes on her plate and she wanted to thread her fingers through his hair and kiss those smooth, hard lips.

He clucked his tongue and looked at his pocket watch, breaking her out of her reverie. “What could be keeping Regina?”

“No idea. You could order breakfast while we wait, though. I’m having the banana today.” Her eyes strayed to his crotch and her cheeks heated in a furious blush. “Pancakes. I’m having banana pancakes. With nuts.” Ugh, she  _ sounded _ nuts.

At last, he took pity on her and pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. 

“Belle—”  
“Atticus—”

They'd spoken at the same time and he gestured at her with a small smile, his eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “Ladies first.”

She reached for his hand on the table, giving a light squeeze. His eyes flared in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. It’s not about us, but I think it maybe is affecting what you think about me and…”

“Hello, Gold.”

Belle released his hand and looked up to greet the person who had approached their table, but Cora Mills’ painted red smile was only for Gold. The mayor’s mother spared her a cool, appraising glance that made her blood boil, and she tightened her fingers around her fork.  

“It’s wonderful to see you,” Cora told him, the simpering smile still in place. “May I join you?”

“Cora.” Gold inclined his head, his face tight. “We’re in a meeting. Waiting for Regina, actually.”   

“I’m sure my daughter will be along. This’ll only take a minute.” She leaned over the table angling herself in front of Belle and treating Gold and everyone else looking in their direction to a look down her low-cut silk blouse. “The singles cruise to the Caribbean I told you about is coming up next month. It’s for the fifty plus crowd. Like us.” The low, throaty rasp of her laughter was intimate and designed to make Belle feel excluded. 

It did its job. Belle sank back in her chair and cradled her pitching stomach. If Cora’s shameless flirting continued, she was going to barf all over the table. 

“Come with me, Gold,” Cora continued. “Ten whole days of sunshine, swimming, gambling in a gigantic floating casino. We’ll have the time of our lives.”

The irony was almost too much to take, and Belle rolled her eyes. Gold insisted he was too old for her, but it seemed like half the women in town wanted him. Fuming with jealousy, she glared daggers at Cora, then leaned around her to watch his reaction.

“Tempting.” Gold crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “But I’m not really the cruising type, Cora. My friend Hook, he’s the seaman. I like to keep my feet on solid ground. Also, I’m forty-seven. Not fifty quite yet. But thank you for the offer. I’m sure it will be a grand time for you.” 

Another curt nod signaled her dismissal, but Cora didn’t take the hint. 

She stepped closer and drew a sharp, crimson fingernail down Gold’s cheek, making Belle shiver in disgust. “If you change your mind, you have my number.” 

Hips swaying, she sauntered to another table. 

“I’m sorry for the interruption, Belle. Ms. Mills is an old friend.” Gold cleared his throat. “What was it you wanted to say?”

A jumble of thoughts crossed her mind.  _ Why don’t you want to see me anymore? Did you really start a rumor that we were fake dating? Please tell me you don’t actually like Cora.  _ “You’ve been avoiding me and I think I know why.” She toyed with her cold pancakes and took a deep breath. “Last year, my parents…”

The sound of metal scraping against tile cut off her next words and Belle cringed.

“Hello, folks.” Sidney Glass, editor for  _ The Storybrooke Mirror _ pulled a chair over and plopped down at the table uninvited. “What’re we talking about?”

“Nothing we want appearing in tomorrow’s headlines,” Gold said, his expression shuttered. “What do you want?”

“Regina sent me.” Sidney spread his hands in a supplicating gesture. “She’s not going to be able to make this little pow-wow after all.”

“This is her little pet project, not mine.” Gold’s mouth twisted. “You can tell your  _ boss _ I don’t appreciate my time being wasted.”

Belle bit her lip, feeling like she’d been punched. Was his comment about wasting his time referring to her? 

Sidney smirked as if he could tell how Gold’s comments affected her, inspiring the crazy urge to hurl her plate of pancakes at his stupid head. And if Gold got a little syrup in the face, all the better.

“Maybe she didn’t want to interrupt your bonding time. Do let me know when the adoption documents come through,” Sidney said with a smarmy smile. “We’ll want to announce it in the  _ Mirror _ .” 

Gold’s knuckles went white around the head of his cane, his eyes taking on a dark, menacing glint Belle had never seen before. He angled the cane toward Sidney, who yelped and jerked away. “Apologize to Miss French. Now.”  
  
Gold ground the butt of his cane into Sidney’s foot until the other man let out a howl of pain.    
  
“I’m sorry! Miss French-Mr. Go-! Oh God, that hurts! I’m sorry!” Sidney cried.

Sidney continued to babble pleas while Gold stood up, his face hard as stone, the cane hovering a threatening inch from Sidney’s foot. “Next time I’ll break the foot, Glass. And maybe something else of value. Do we understand each other?” Gold growled.

“Ye-yes,” Sidney said, his voice shaking. He was curled up into a ball in the chair, a mere shell of the man he was when he entered the diner. Gold jabbed him lightly in the ribs. 

“Atticus.” Belle stood, winding her arm around his bicep to steady and calm him. She stood by his side, stroking his arm through the heavy fabric of his suit. “Enough,” she said quietly. “He said he was sorry. Let him go now.”

Gold gave a jerky nod and pulled back the cane, giving Sidney the chance to scamper away, then flinched away from her touch. He turned to face her, his breath harsh, his eyes deep pools of misery. “You’re too forgiving, Belle.” 

Surprised by the anger simmering in his words, she took a half-step back. Was he talking about people in town? Himself? Or worse, had he unearthed the secret about her fortune and was furious because she hadn’t told him? 

As it turned out, she wasn’t going to have her answer today.

Before she could urge him to sit and please listen to her, he was gone. Heart aching, she stood next to the table, watching him hobble quickly down the sidewalk in the direction of his shop. 

Only when Ruby handed her a pile of napkins and patted her shoulder did she realize tears were streaming down her cheeks. 

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?


End file.
